


Forgiveness for Fucking Idiots

by Howlter2014



Category: House of Lies
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlter2014/pseuds/Howlter2014
Summary: Rewrite of the end scene of 3.8 when Marty and Clyde make-out, I mean make-UP





	Forgiveness for Fucking Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never tried to write fanfiction before, but there is an extreme lack of House of Lies fic available and it’s a travesty. If this is any good please let me know. I honestly have no idea if I should even attempt this again.

Standing outside the door I took a deep breath to try and calm whatever the fuck was going on inside my head. I wish I was nervous because I was about to confront Marty Kaan, consultant extraordinaire, the guy that could bury me and make sure I never work again without a second thought. I tried to tell myself that’s why I hadn’t pushed the issue. I got my job back, got away from the she devil in Louboutin’s that is Monica, that should be all that matters. I crossed Marty motherfuckin’ Kaan and lived to tell about it. What more could I possibly need?

That’s the problem, though. I’m still dealing with Marty Kaan. The Marty Kaan that pushes everybody away. That trusts no one. And for good reason because the people he trusts _including you, you fuck_ stab in the back the second he turns it. Marty trusted me. Had been my friend. Had plucked me from obscurity. Had taught me things. Had been the one I could call when I needed help. He’d seen something in this cocky asshole that only cared about himself.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he saw himself in me. And there isn’t room for two Marty Kaans because Marty Kaan is a fucking asshole. He only looks out for himself, he takes whatever he wants with no regard for anybody else, leaves a trail of destruction in his wake and never looks back because why the fuck should he care? That’s the only reason I went to Monica. It’s a harsh fucking business and you have to look out for you. Marty wasn’t looking out for Clyde. He was looking out for Marty because Marty fucking Kaan is the sun that we should all revolve around. He’s fucking Jesus Christ and we should be thankful he graces us with his genius. Seriously fuck him.

So why am I standing outside of his door like a love-struck teenager afraid to even fucking knock? Why do I need his forgiveness so badly? Why do I want to be able to call him daddy and get that little smirk in return? God, everything is so fucked. I should just leave. What good could come of this? I’m just going to get fired and then where will I be? I need to just keep my head down and keep the job until maybe Marty deigns not to hate my fucking guts anymore.

But do I really care about the job if being friends with Marty isn’t a part of it? Isn’t that why I loved my job in the first place? I could get another job. Despite Monica’s threats, I know I could. She would get bored of fucking with me eventually. So what is so special about this job that I can’t walk away?

Fuck. Marty is fucking Jesus. And yeah, I fucked him over because he fucked me over. So what if he will probably continue to fuck me over whenever it suits him. I can’t just walk away. He either has to fire me or get over his bullshit.

So I’m knocking on the door.

No, I am.

Really.

…

…

FUCK

And now I’m pacing. Yeah, I’m sure I don’t look like a fucking insane person pacing outside his door at 3 in the morning. That’s a totally normal thing to do. I should be drunk for this. Yeah, that’s the solution. That couldn’t possibly make the situation worse. No, I need to do this. I’m going to do this. Who gives a fuck if he fires me.

Knock kno—

“I could hear your internal monologue from my kitchen,” Truthfully, I’d been staring at my keys, debating the merits of driving over to Clyde’s when I heard the idiot pacing and grumbling to himself. Of course, he was there. And of course, he was working himself up to a panic attack at the idea of being sincere for once.

“I just want to talk. We need to talk,” and Jesus, when did I become such a girl.

“So talk,” I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to hear. That he was sorry? I knew he was. That he’d never do it again? He probably would. Hell, I would if the situation arose. So why couldn’t I just forgive him?

“Look- I’m not good at this, I’ve never been good at this, but we can’t keep going on like we have,” What am I even supposed to say? I miss the old us. I miss when you would call me in the middle of the night to go out because you were stressed? I miss the inside jokes, the teasing, the casual hugs when one of us was taking things to seriously?

“How have we been going, Clyde? Because I think things are pretty good considering I’m working with my own personal Judas ready to pretend to be my friend then stab me in the back whenever it suits you. Whatever happened to honor among thieves?”

“Oh don’t get all high and mighty on me Marty! You fucked me over first. Face it, if you had been in my position you would have done the exact same thing. And it still would have been a mistake. I made a mistake okay? It was a mistake!”

“A mistake. Running to my ex wife and selling me out was a mistake? Because it seemed pretty intentional to me. I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND. My only friend,” Fuck I did not mean to say that out loud.

“Marty-“

“But I guess that didn’t matter to you. After all, it’s not like I was your BEST friend or anything. No, that title belongs to a guy you can’t even fucking stand 75% of the time. The one you didn’t even think to call to bail you out of prison. You would have never done that to him. No, Doug Guggenheim gets all of your loyalty,” Fuck why am I still talking. And where did that come from. Am I jealous that Clyde has another friend? Is that the level I’ve stooped to?

“Marty…” What do I possibly say to that? Would I have done that to Doug? Fuck yes! Who gives a fuck? But that’s not the issue.

“Marty, I’m a piece of shit.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Once again, thank you for stating the obvious,” Where was Clyde going with this?

“My point is we’re both terrible people. We both put ourselves first and don’t give a fuck about anyone else. Doug isn’t like that. He isn’t like us. He cares about other people. That’s why I want him to be my best friend--“

“Really making me feel better Clyde.”

“Shut the fuck up. UGH I’m so not good at this, I don’t know how to explain it. I WANT him to be my best friend. I want that because I think it would make me less of a fucking sociopath, but to be honest, all that caring and compassion is fucking nauseating. You were wrong when you said 75%. It’s more like 98%. I like that we’re pieces of shit. I like not giving a fuck about anyone. I always have. The problem is that I do care about what you think of me. And it’s killing me that you hate me right now, especially because you hate me for one of the things we have in common; our pettiness.”

“You stabbed me in the back to be petty?”

“I just always thought it was you and me. And then I saw that it was you and Jeanie and realized how wrong I’d been. I felt like such a fucking idiot because I always thought we had this special thing and you didn’t even tell me when you decided to leave. No, you told Jeanie,” God, I’m a girl. I just told Marty Kaan that I was jealous of him and Jeanie. Though I guess he said he was jealous of me and Doug. Though, I’m not fucking Doug. Wait, do I care if Marty is fucking Jeanie? Why would I give a fuck? Do I give a fuck? What the fuck is wrong with me? This is not the right time for this new development. Stick to the topic at hand Oberholt.

“I told Jeanie because she was around when I made the decision. Not because I care about her more,” Wait, did I just say that I care about Clyde more than Jeanie? No, I love Jeanie. I think. Not the time for this conversation. We need to get off this topic.

“Look, we’re getting off track. I fucked up. I lost your trust, but I NEED a chance to earn it back. Is there any way we can just start over?”

 “Like Obamacare start over? Because that’s a lot of work.”

“Yeah, I want to be like Obamacare.”

“You want a drink?”

“Oh, you know what happens when I drink, Daddy.”

“You get naked,” Why am I picturing that. Fuck stop picturing that. Why did he have to say Daddy? He calls me Daddy all the time. Marty, get your shit together and for the love of god, STOP PICTURING IT. “Maybe just some snacks.”

“Or we could just have sex,” Why did I make that joke? I always make jokes like that. More important question, why am I flustered over that joke. Why is Marty not making eye contact over that joke? Why is Marty making way too much eye contact? Why is my mouth dry? Why did I come over? Why did I not come over sooner?

“You know what, fuck it, let’s have those drinks.”


End file.
